


Never Expected You (I Am Glad You Are Here)

by Mischief11



Series: Worlds Will Collide [8]
Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischief11/pseuds/Mischief11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots of characters meeting their soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wide-Eyes Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

> A soulmate can be platonic or romantic and there can be more than one.

From the moment he could read them Marco’s words filled him with unlimited curiosity. Neither his aunt nor his mother understood what the words meant but they recommended that he learn every language he could in order to one day find his match. When he was 12 years old he devoured languages like they were apples from Master Dorien’s fruit stand until he was fluent in English, Italian, Latin, and Spanish but he still have not found the language like the words that ran down his arm. ‘ _You learned the tongue of the Uighurs?_ ’ was written in molten gold, the English tongue and were written with broad strokes unlike the slim and gentle pink of the words that wrapped around his mother’s neck or the vivid green that danced across his aunts left foot. Marco knew before he became a teenager that his soulmate was not going to be the love of his life because every time he touched the words he felt the same warmth that he did when Master Culian called him “son”. He had a platonic bond with a man he never met despite the years that passed when he went from a child to a young man about to step into adult hood. Marco had wondered why his bonded did not show up when he was a young orphan boy that needed a father-figure but decided to not spend the rest of his life questioning.

It was a cool afternoon when his father’s ship sailed into the harbor and his life changed forever. At first he could not believe it and assumed that he was seeing visions but when the ship did not fade from view he knew that it was true. After 17 years his father was finally home and Marco could not wait to finally meet him. When they met that night Father was both similar and different to how Marco had envisioned him but he did not care because Father was here and he did not need his bonded after all and no words could describe his joy. Words also could not describe his sadness at being left behind, the fear as he snuck on the ship and the wonderment when he learnt the people they were to travel with were called Uighurs. Remembering his Aunts advice to learn all he could Marco put his focus and energy to into learning how to speak like them to make his words come true. At times he wanted to give up because the language was old and the words more foreign than any he knew but every time Marco thought of his word-bond and the man who would be like a second father to him he decided to try just a little longer.

The journey felt longer than three years but a few months after his 20th birthday Father claimed that they have finally reached their destination: the palace of the great Kublai Khan. Uncle hissed at him to follow their lead before the doors to the throne room opened and they made their way through the room on their knees. When he was finally allowed to rise Marco carefully looked around the room trying not to gawk at the signs of wealth and power around him. Sitting on a golden throne designed with fur and lions sat a man bigger than any he met in his life who looked less than impressed with the sight before him. The Khan looked to be in his fifties and had a long beard that had grey mixed in with a thick golden belt slung across his chest. His hair was black and styled like some of the men around him and he was completely dressed in golden robes with fur around his neck. His voice was gravelly and clear but not loud because raising his voice was not necessary to get his point across. The Khan spoke mostly to his father and uncle asking them to describe his desert which they had journeyed. The words they used was dry and basic which did not give justice to the majestic land they sen. He did not think before he spoke out loud to the Khan for the first time over his father.

“Yet very much alive. At night you hear it. The shifting sands, they sing.” Marco spoke low but clear as he noticed the Khan’s head turn to him quickly and his eyes seemed to stare him down. The woman who was sitting next to the Khan in the purple headdress leaned forward and seemed to be trying to read him like a book.

“Humble apologies, Sire,” His father interrupted desperately. “He does not yet know the rules of the-”

The Khan made a deep guttural sound in the back of his throat while raising his hand which caused Father to become silent completely.

“Let him continue.” The Khan ordered his eyes going from his father back to him.

“Voices like….spirits trying to lure you off course. That is why men die out there. The Uighurs called it….Hirnaom Uirnadk Iaiclaimak.” Marco finished as the foreign words rolled off his tongue with little difficulty.

“You learned the tongue of the Uighurs?” The Khan demanded and Marco knees buckled as shock rolled swept through him. It was the Khan’s words that ran down his arm in broad molten good lettering? How the greatest king on the planet could was meant to be a platonic bondmate that made Marco feel he was safe and could step in for his father if necessary? Seeing the Khan lean forward on his throne made Marco realize he had yet to answer.

“Three years was not long enough to learn it all.” He quickly replied.

“And this?” The Khan asked in Mongolian.

“I understand it...for the most part.” Marco replied in the same tongue. He was shaking with nervous as he answered his _soulmate_ who was also a _king._ The Khan snorted and leaned back into his throne to look at the woman next to him.

The lady asked him about the most beautiful women he had seen and seemed amused by his answer even though her eyes did not soften.

“You have a clever mind, for a Latin.” The Khan stated with a voice ringing with amusement. That voice quickly turned to anger as he reminded them that they did not bring the priest he asked for and then banished them forever. For the second time in less than five minutes Marco was almost knocked over with shock: he traveled for three years around the world to this court and met his bonded only to be sent back to the roads never to return.

Marco went to bow like his uncle when his father suddenly straightened and began to speak to the Khan again about _him_. Marco was as confused as the rest of the court about the point behind his father’s words until he got to the point.

“But if it pleases Your Greatness, you may take him as your man and servant.”

He had to be hearing things. His father was not selling him like cattle to a foreign king.

“What do you wish in return?” The Khan asked as a stone plundered through Marco’s belly as his father negotiated terms. Feeling scared for the first time he entered the Khan’s court Marco desperately pleaded with his father.

“Father, what are you doing?” Marco demanded.

“Marco, trust this. Be silent.” His father orders him quietly.

“I am your son.” Marco pleaded.

“Be silent.” Father hissed.

“You wish not the honor of service in the court of the Khan of Khans?” The king asked him with his voice sounding hard enough to silent the words in Marco’s tongue.

It was a moment of silent before the Khan accepted his father’s blood deal and everything was over. Marco tried to go his father pleading with him not to leave him behind but as the guards stopped him Marco could see that his pleading was useless.

* * *

It was slightly warm in the cell he was in so Marco did not bother to wrap himself in the blanket he had been provided. Instead he settled for curling up on the bed against the wall as the hours slowly ticked away and the light through the window grew dark with nightfall. He was almost half asleep when he heard footsteps make their way down the steps until they reached his cell. Silence ruled the atmosphere until Marco could not help sitting up to see who his visitor was only to find it to be the Khan himself. Neither one said anything for a long time as Marco grew nervous for the reason behind this late night visit.

“I have been waiting a long time for you,” The Khan finally spoke. “It will be interesting to see if you are worth the wait.”


	2. Let It Burn

Of all the places Marco thought he could end up he never thought to see a Mongolian feast in full progress on sandy plains. He was currently seated next to Byamba in what is called Karakorum to carefully watch the celebrations in honor of the Khan who just happen to not be here. The music filled the air and made his heart sing with life as the taste of roasted boar with sweet bread set his tongue on fire with flavor. Marco was quick to try everything he could get his hands on but the Airag since he was not too sure if horse milk was something he should be drinking however the man sitting next to him noticed.

“The airag is not something you should avoid, Master Polo. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Byamba stated as he nudged the pitcher towards Marco’s end of the table.

“I am afraid I must decline. I have already had much to drink.” Marco reflected. Sadly it did not end there and not to long pass did Marco find himself in Byamba’s merciless grip with no way to escape.

“Open your mouth!” the Mongolian demanded.

“No, no, no, no!” The Latin fought.

“Open it!”

“No, no!” Marco tried one last time to fight before the Airag was poured down his throat.

“Shut it!” Byamba demanded as he pulled on Marco’s ear making him swallow over the squeak that tried to escape his mouth. The Airag was actually delicious and sent warmth through his body to the tips of his toes even as he coughed as the others laughed. The Mongolian patted his shoulder in comfort as he say back down on the ground not noticing the small jump the Latin gave. Byamba hand has just happened to touch the spot where Marco’s russet colored soul mark ran across his shoulder.

It didn’t hurt when someone touched them but it did sent a small shiver down his chest. As long as he could remember Marco’s mother had been proud of the words “ _Tell us, Marco. Do your feasts compare to this_?” and would remark on how he was meant to be a great adventurer like his father. It was those words printed into his skin that convinced the Latin that he would not be destined to live the common life forever but would one day travel and feast with those in different nations. That knowledge gave him comfort in the cold years following his mother’s death and strength in the three years he traveled on the Silk Road. This is the first real feast that Marco has attended so he was a bit nervous whenever he saw someone start to speak to him but so far there has not been a hint but the night was not over. Marco was broken out of his thoughts when Ahmad’s laughter rose again in the air before a warm and amused voice spoke out.

“Tell us, Marco. Do your feast compare to this?” Kaidu askes as his hand swept around to include all that surrounded them. Hearing those words was like falling into cold water only to realize you cannot swim as Marco gasped in shock. Not only has Marco found his soulmate but he turned out to be a Lord in the Great Khan’s kingdom. Lord Kaidu was the last person Marco would expect to have the words that danced along his shoulder but not because he was around twice Marco’s age. This man was powerful, confident, and strong and everything else Marco wished he could be. Byamba bumped against Marco’s leg reminding him to answer.

 “They are different.” He was quick to state. Probably sensing Marco’s nervousness Byamba quickly stepped in.

“Here, we eat the pig. In Venice they dance with it. If the Venetian feasts were comparable, why would our friend leave home?” The Mongolian joked.

“We wear masks.” Marco offered hoping both to redeem himself and to get a reaction. What he got was Kaidu pausing in reaching for some bread only to turn to the wine goblet which he drained in a few swallows.

“For what purpose?” He asked in a neutral voice but his eyes were dark when they landed on Marco.

This was all Marco needed to confirm that his words was on Kaidu’s body and that they were soulmates. Happiness started in his heart and spread to every part of his body warming him better than the Airag did fore he had found his mate and was no longer alone in this foreign land. The future he had imagined as a child was different but he did not care because now things were bound to get better since the other part of himself was near.

 

* * *

 

Marco slowly wondered around the camp as things winded down for the night and the people started to head to their beds. When he passed a couple of tents a hand grabbed him from behind and preceded to drag him to a nearby tent. When he finally got his feet under him Marco took stock of the man who was dragging him only to see that it was Kaidu.

“Lord Kai-”

“Quiet.” The man hissed as he pushed Marco into the tent.

Marco remained quiet as the Lord entered the tent and started pacing back and forth furiously. He wanted to say something but decided it might be best to remain silent until the other man spoke. Finally Kaidu seemed to have calmed down and turned to speak to the Latin.

“Would I be right in guessing that you bear the words I first spoke to you?” Kaidu asked in an emotionless voice.

“Yes, across my right shoulder.” Marco answered now a little worried.

Kaidu slowly walked over to him and raised his hand slowly to Marco’s shoulder to gently stroke the limb with light fingers. The touch was gentle but it was like Marco could feel them down into his soul where they burned. No sooner had the touch began did Kaidu back away quickly from the Latin with a shake of his head and his hands folded behind him.

“No, you do not bear my words. You cannot.” Kaidu stated after a moment of silence.

“I assure you that it is true. I was not expecting-” Marco’s words became caught in his throat at the dark glare the Mongolian gave him.

“It cannot be true. _I_ _am_ the lord of the House of Ögedei and leader of the Golden Horde. I cannot be soul bound to some servant no matter who he calls Master. Those words you bear are not mine and I would ask you to never speak of them again.” Kaidu declared as if he was giving a speech to the men in his army. Marco stood there in shock as his heart pounded so hard that he feared that it would surely jump from his chest.

“But I am your soulmate. We complete each other! Maybe not romantically but some way we fit like…the last piece of a puzzle.” The Latin pleaded trying to make the other man see reason.

“Then you and I will remain uncompleted. I must think of the good of my children and my people and having you, some round eye foreign pet of the Khan, will do nothing but bring shame and that I cannot allow. No, you are not my soulmate. You cannot be.” He growled at the Latin as he shook his head.

“You do not want me?” Marco whispered voice cracking over the words.

“Want has nothing to do with it. I cannot not have you. We will never speak of this again. Goodbye, Marco Polo.” Kaidu concluded.

Marco watched with teary eyes as his soulmate turned his back and walked away from him like he was nothing. But how could Kaidu not when he was lord of a land and Marco was a simple servant sold for the price of admission onto the Silk Road? When Kaidu was no longer in view Marco allowed himself to slowly sink to knees as whatever strength he had faded into the ground below leaving his bare and empty. His soul mark no longer carried its usual warmth but now felt cool and hollow for the first time in his life and Marco hated it. He hated knowing that he will live with the knowledge that someone else in his life did not want him: his aunt, father, uncle and now his soulmate. Marco did not know how long he knelt there but when he stood he took some sand in his hand until some was spilling through the cracks in his fingers and slowly walked over to the nearest fire that was empty of people. Marco stood in front of the fire staring into it blankly as flashes of both his past and future passed before his eyes. He saw every dream he had of his soulmate of what he would be, remembered every thought and wish he ever made on him, felt all the hope and eagerness he had carried for what their future would be like together and tasted all the joy he had felt for the slight moment when his mate was discovered and merged it into the sand in his hands. When his mind and spirit felt blank with every thought of Kaidu and all they could have been Marco slowly let the sand pour into the fire and allowed his soul to burn.

 


	3. Heart of Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahmad/Marco

Never in ten thousand years did Marco think his words would lead him down such a dark path of betrayal and death that would rock an empire. For the first nine-teen years of his life he was proud of the soul mark and the bathed in the hope they provided. The message was clear and inspiring: “So what is this gift I hear of: The foreign messenger who can paint pictures with his words?” Not only did the words reveal that Marco would travel the world like his father but he would impress his mate with his words. Marco had practiced observing everything around him and devoured every book he got his hands on to learn words and how they could bring visions to the blind and courage to the dying. He had spent countless hours telling stories to the young children who lived in the poor section about things he had read in the book or overheard from the seaman as they drank ale in his uncle’s tavern. Marco practiced and spoke until his words floated in the air making pictures come to life and described things that normal men could never dream off.   
He was twenty when his father sold him to the Khan and while Marco was filled with fear and anger there was a fair amount excitement as well. It was his way with words that caught the Khan’s attention and now Marco stood a real chance at finding his mate. It was three days into his stay in Cambulac that he found himself in the Minister of Finance’s office to drop off the taxes Songa had collected. Marco had been looking forward to his bed when the Minister had told Songa to leave Marco behind. A bit nervous of what the older man wanted make Marco approach the desk slowly while trying not to shuffle from foot to foot. It was at the foot of the desk that Ahmad opened his mouth and not only changed Marco’s life but make it for the worst. 

“So what is this gift I hear of: The foreign messenger who can paint pictures with his words?” Ahmad had asked as he looked up from the papers in front of him. To the day he laid on his deathbed Marco could not truly remember what he had said but he would never forget that Ahmad did not appear phased at discovering Marco was his soulmate and that the end of the first discussion ended in Songa’s death. March should have heeded the omen but he didn’t and had tried to approach the older man later who simply pushed Marco away with soft words and empty eyes. He thought that Ahmad just needed time and decided to give it to him partly so that Marco could wrap his head around the facts and maybe improve himself enough for his soulmate’s affection. What a hopeless fool he was.

Marco should have seen sense when Byamba, his dear and protective friend, had warned him the night before the first attack on the Walled City that Ahmad was speaking against him. He had tried to joke it off but Byamba, who had never been cold to him, spoke foreboding words that made him shiver. Marco had been completely hurt that soulmate would speak poison words against him to the point where his friend had urged him to flee in the heat of battle. It was easy to fall in the Princess’s arms to escape his grief and even easier to feel like fool when he was on his knees in front of the khan the next day with Byamba’s sword the only thing keeping his head on top his shoulders. 

He never would have guessed that Ahmad would be his biggest prosecutor at his trial nor that he would do it with so much passion while his eyes were empty. He never imagined that the person he had shaped and prepared for would crave his death so hungrily. Watching him throw accusation after accusation threw Marco out his circle off calm that caused his temper to run away for him and the Khan to deliver his decree of death. It was late at night that Marco was visited by the man who had been haunting his dreams for more nights that the Latin cared to admit. For a long time, they had simply stared at each other till Marco could no longer bear the silence in quiet agony. 

“Why?” Marco begged desperately. 

“Why what? I need a better understanding of your question.”

“Why couldn’t you care for me? Love me?” The Latin elaborated.

“Why would I? There is no place in my future for you.” Ahmad stated before he turned around and walked away from the cell like Marco was nothing. 

‘I guess to him I am nothing when all the while he was my everything.’ Marco though as he brokenly fell to his knees.


	4. Let It Burn pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco weeps over what he had lost and Byamba promises Marco that he will survive this. An epic friendship is born. 
> 
> There is angst.

Marco did not know how long he knelt in the sand before the sound of a horse rearing broke his attention from the flames and the dullness in his heart. The night had gotten even later without him noticing and people were returning to their tents for the night. Marco’s body felt stiff as he slowly stood to his feet and he allowed them to take him back to the tent he was to share with the Khan’s warrior son for the night. It was empty when he arrived for which Marco was thankful as he peeled off most of his clothes until he was left in a loose tunic and trousers. The Latin curled up under the covers hoping that sleep would claim him but instead he was plagued with Kaidu’s rejecting words and the overwhelming numb sensation coming from his shoulder. 

He had heard from others what rejection did to one’s words but they failed to do justice to the terrible coldness that traced every line and the loneliness that dug it’s claws into the body and poisoned the soul until it was consumed with it. His life was like a boat in the ocean of the universe and without an anchor Marco could feel himself starting to drift away. After all these years Marco had made plans on what his future would be like with his mate but in the aftermath of the rejection he was truly lost. Even after his father sold him like cattle there was still hope for his mate but now that was gone as well. He had nothing left to focus on while the words became so cold and numb that his whole body shivered. Desperate Marco reached a hand up to his should to try and rub some warmth back into the words but when he turned his head and saw that once russet colored words were now gray and faded tears ran down his face. Marco curled into a ball sobbing miserably as his hand went from rubbing to scratching at the words hoping to bring any type of feeling back, even if it was pain. 

Lost in his own world Marco did not notice when the tent opened to allow Byamba entry or that the man stood there for a few moments surprised at the raw grief on display. Walking closer the Mongolian could see that the man was scratching at words on his shoulder that were the same broken grey that ran down his left calf. Swiftly moving across the short space of the tent Byamba knelt down in front of the Latin and grabbed the hand that was scratching red lines into pale skin, surprising Marco from his haze. 

“You found your soulmate tonight and they have rejected you.” Byamba stated in a low voice. Marco could not find his voice to speak so he nodded his head. 

“Was they your only one?” The Mongolian questioned. Again the Latin nodded his head because he was unable to answer. 

For a moment the older man did not say anything and simply let go of Marco’s hand who immediately righted his clothing. Byamba suddenly stood up and left the tent leaving Marco to blink red eyes in surprise. If seemed that no one wanted to be near him in this world and he was suddenly hit once again with such loneliness that the Latin curled up even tighter on his bed. The tent flaps opened again at Byamba’s return who carried a large water skin with him. The Mongolian unscrewed the top and offered it to the Latin. 

“Drink.” He ordered. The younger man slowly reached out and took the water skin which was heavy in its fullness. Under the Mongolian’s gaze Marco took a sip and had to fight the urge to choke at the horrible burn it made as he swallowed. He tried to offered it back to the man but Byamba shook his head and motioned for Marco to drink some more. After Marco had managed to swallow a couple more sips the Mongolian sat down directly in front of Marco and leaned forwards until the two men were staring directly at each other.

“Listen to me, Marco: You do not need them.” Byamba finally spoke after a moment of silence. “You do not need them to survive, or to love or to think. They are a luxury but is not a necessity. Let them go and you go on.”

“What? But..he is my soulmate and I been waiting forever and I had dreams and plans for us but now everything is ruined because-” The Latin’s raving was cut short by the Mongolian pushing the water skin into Marco’s mouth making him drink some of the alcohol to prevent spilling it over his shirt.

“The wait is over now and you know all the dreams have been for nothing. You must make new plans now for yourself even if they are smaller and less grand. Accept the fact that he didn’t want you, let him go and move on.” Byamba commanded. Marco bowed his head to hide the fact that tears were resurfacing and quickly took a sip from the vile alcohol in his hands. He could not deny the wisdom in those words just as he could not deny the pain in his heart.

“He said I was not good enough. That he had no place with a foreign servant and to pretend we are nothing to each other.” The Latin whispered so quietly that Byamba barely heard him. The knowledge that Marco had been rejected for the same reason Byamba had been brought back bitter feelings that were best trampled. 

“Marco, if he looked at your status to decide your worth than he is not good enough for you. Status and power is like a fickle mistress and anyone who clings to her is a pea-wit.” The Mongolian announced making Marco chuckle. The younger man blinked in surprise that he could still feel amusement through the numbness that seemed to have poisoned his soul. 

“I had planned many things in my life but I never considered that I wouldn’t be accepted.” Marco stated quietly.

“My soulmate did not accept me either. A woman of such high noble breeding had no place in her life for a bastard son of the Khan and his consort. Marco, I was in your place a few years ago so trust me on this: you can live without them. It will be rough at first but you will be able to let it all go. I lived my life for her but now I live my life for me because I deserve it. I deserve better and so do you.” Byamba stated.

“So you made different plans for yourself? You are building a future with anyone you choose?” The Latin asked.

“Yes, now I pick who I spend my life with instead of allowing fate to do it for me. You will see that without the words now to ground you that there is a…freedom in choosing. I will help you find it.” Byamba promised. Hearing this Marco looked down into skin in his hands as if it had all the answers to the universe. 

“Are we friends now, Byamba?” Marco asked in a voice that could only be described as fragile, as if he was waiting for another rejection but hoping for better. For a minute the Mongolian simply looked at Marco with a surprised expression before nodding.

“I guess we are. For tonight, drink up and lose your sorrow in the bottle. Tomorrow, you are going to move on with your life and leave him behind.” Byamba stated as he stood to his feet. Marco watched him rise before turning back to the skin in his hand and took a large sip.  


__________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

The next morning Lord Kaidu stood at attention as his guest started to mount their horses for the journey back to Cambulac. His eyes traveled over the Prince and his wife with mild disinterest before looking over the rest of the party. The glimpse of light brown curls caught his gaze and he found himself unwillingly watching the round eyed foreigner whose words now ran gray and cold along his ankle. It seems fitting that the words would be written there for they held the same weight as if a physical shackle. The rejection was a necessary evil in order to maintain his respect and safe guard a good future for his children so they could have a chance with anyone from their soulmate to the Khan’s warrior son. Byamba was the type of man who he would approve for his children despite his lack of legitimacy. He was a real man and a true Mongol worthy of respect. Before Kaidu could pull his eyes away from the Latin he saw Byamba approach Marco and offer him a water skin. He did not know what was said but it made Marco smile brightly and Byamba to give a small grin. When had the two gotten so comfortable? He had noticed Byamba sitting next to and messing around with the Latin last night but did not think anything of it but it seemed there was more to them. The sight of the two smiling and talking with each other as he turned his back to speak to the prince left a bitter tang on his tongue that he did not want to examine.


	5. Poison to My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mei Lin/Marco

Of all the people it could have been Marco did not expect to find his soulmate in the Chinese woman who had tried to kill the empress and live to tell about it. He had passed her in the hallway as she was escorted back into her prison and she had looked him in the eye daring him to look down upon her. She had been wearing a simple robe, her hair in slight disarray, her hands heavily shacked and the bruises were still present on her face but she stood before him as regal as any queen who ever ruled. 

“Is your world so dull that you would find me fascinating, round eye?” she hissed angrily making the guards shift. Marco had been surprised not in the bite of her words but that she spoke the sentence that ran across the bottom of his stomach. Suddenly filled with wonder Marco gave a respectful bow and spoke with completely sincerity. 

“Forgive me, My Lady. I did not mean to offend you with my gaze.” Marco looked at Mei Lin and when she raised her head in acknowledgement Marco had felt breathless. He had memorized where she was located before continuing on his way to avoid suspicion and waited with baited breath before he went to her room in the middle of the night.

It was a dangerous game he was playing but Marco could not find himself to truly care when he was in her presence in their stolen moments. Marco sometimes thought she was not worth the risk when she glared at him with cold eyes and sliced his skin with her sharp words that dripped poison that would burn hours later. However, when Mei Lin would allow him to place his head on her lap and would sing Marco songs as her fingers petted soft curls or allowed him to curl close to her and braid her hair with gentle fingers was enough to make Marco forgive her everything. No matter how her words hurt Mei Lin never raised an hand to him except for the first time he visited and she realized he would never harm her. The former concubine did not judge him when he told her how his mother was a noble woman who was disowned when she married a middle class merchant nor how he was raised by an aunt, the bastard daughter of his maternal grandfather, who had never hugged Marco but worked her fingers to the bone so that he wouldn’t starve. When the Latin revealed how his father had sold him as chattel to the Khan in return for trade routes he later lost to greed, the Chinese woman raised Marco’s head till their gazes met and said “Your father is fool and you are better without him.” 

It was many nights before Mei Lin would tell him bits of her life before. She spoke of living poor in the slums where her father would beat on her mother when he was not passed out in the floor and how her brother had been an idiot who looked to her for direction. Marco learns her mother passed from sickness when she was six and her father killed in a street brawl a week later. Mei Lin briefly mentions the time after that was filled with cold and starvation before a common street whore that had once been an orphan girl took pity on her. Marco is horrified to learn she had been forced into prostitution from a young age but he masks his expression when Mei Lin pierces him with a look that challenged him to pity her. 

Sometimes when he had free time Marco would find Ling Ling in the garden and discreetly watch her in what she does, learns what she likes and makes notes on the progress of her healing feet. Sometimes the Empress allows him to sit with Ling and listen to stories about her home and in return Marco tells her about his. Ling is amazed at the thought of a city built upon water and he does his best for her to describe the churches, markets, fancy clothing, music and dancers. He remembers all the things he seen in his travels and lays it out for her watching her eyes fill with wonder. 

Later he sits behind Mei Lin brushing her hair and tells everything that happened in the garden. Marco’s words allow her to see Ling in her mind as the Latin saw her hours before: healthy and comfortable. It is these nights that Mei Lin would lay her head on his shoulder and weep in both joy that Ling is fine and grief that they are separated. It inspires Marco to collect things that Ling has dropped which he stashes away in till he sees Mei Lin again. It is simple things: a button, a ribbon, a brush that had been used to paint flowers, and picture of a swan Ling never finished. Mei Lin takes them all, running fingers over them in till she has remembered every inch before giving it back to Marco because the consequences will be dire if she is found with them. 

On the more quieter nights Marco would simply lay on the floor by her side and tells her the same stories he had told Ling to distract her mind from the prison. Sometimes Mei Lin would pretend she is not listening and others she would study him like a cat would study a mouse. Once her fingers caressed his curls and she remarked about knowing whores who would kill to have hair so soft. She pokes Marco’s stomach occasionally and claims he is getting fat which encourages the Latin to sneak her a salt cake when he notices how slim she is. It is oddly his hands that Mei Lin find the most interesting about Marco’s person. 

“Your hands are soft and delicate like a woman’s hands.” She stated. “Pure, untouched like snow. Have they ever held a woman, Latin?” Under her gave Marco can only be truthful and tells her of how Khutulun had stolen his virginity by riding him into the dirt. She chuckles and says “Like a common whore.” Marco does not ask if she refers to him or Khutulun. 

The first time he truly touched her skin was when Mei Lin asked him to rub some suave on her recovering wound from the queen’s arrow. Marco would forever deny how scared he was to do so every time she slightly flinched under his care for the Latin had no doubt she could break him. 

“You touch me as if I’m he most priceless of gems and tentatively as if I’m the most venomous of serpents. You fear that I’ll bite you? Is that what you want?” She had asked when he had finished his task. 

“I do not want to be bitten.” Marco answered quietly. 

“So you fear I’ll bite you? Leave you broken and lifeless?” 

“I think I would be a fool not to. You are truly as deadly as you are beautiful.” He stated before holding up the comb as a silent offering to braid her hair. She stared at him for a long moment before turning her back so that Marco could start his new task. 

The thing he hated most was leaving Mei Lin in her cell each early morning. Marco never promises to be back and she never asks him to return because they both know there is no certainty that either will still be alive come nightfall. He has memorized the guard rotation so avoiding them was child’s play and he wears soft shoes to make as little sound as possible. There is one time that Marco thought he was doomed when a guard caught him leaning against a wall waiting for the soldiers down the hall to leave. The man looked ready to run him through with a sword but he was saved by Byamba who happened to be taking a midnight walk around the palace. His friend had claimed Marco was waiting for him so that they could get a snack from the kitchens and has escorted the Latin away. 

“I hope you are not up to no good.” Byamba had hissed from across the large table in one of the smaller kitchens where he was making a snack. Marco had tried to make an innocent face but Byamba’s expression told him it was not working. 

“Do you really want to know?” he had asked.

“No, I do not.” The Mongolian replied as he separated the food onto two plates and slid one to Marco where they ate in silence. 

After that Marco had been more careful since it would be stupid to depend on Byamba to save him a second time. Almost every night he sneaks across the palace to her cell where he knocks twice. Mei Lin always tells him to leave so Marco knows it is safe but he is also aware that the night when she tells him to enter is when he should flee. These meetings they have is dangerous but as long as Mei Lin allows him to sit at her side Marco would risk it. These stolen moments are as precious to him as the Knick knacks from Ling Ling are precious to Mei Lin and he can’t bear to lose them as he lost so much already. Marco knows that they could be caught and executed or that she would bite him with fangs more poisonous than any snake but for now he will live for these moments where he can curl into Mei lin’s side, tell her of her daughter and faraway lands, and relax in the knowledge he is not dead because she does not want him to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments inspire me and keep me going. Tell me what you think!


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